Matthew Arnold

On one she smiles, and he was blest;
She smiles elsewhere--we make a din!
But 'twas not read more

On one she smiles, and he was blest;
She smiles elsewhere--we make a din!
But 'twas not love which heaved her breast,
Fair child!--it was the bliss within.

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

Journalism is literature in a hurry.

The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.

The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.

And see all sights from pole to pole, / And glance, and nod, and bustle by; / And never once read more

And see all sights from pole to pole, / And glance, and nod, and bustle by; / And never once possess our soul / Before we die.

This strange disease of modern life, with its sick hurry, its divided aims.

This strange disease of modern life, with its sick hurry, its divided aims.